“Lord Holder—” began the older mage.
The Holder lifted one hand. “Mage Losh, Mage Kael, please be seated. And your bodyguards, too. You are…?”
“Mage Guard Mallaron, my lord. This is Mage Guard Lenya.”
“Very well. And—?” He turned to me and spotted my badge of office. “Ah, Mistress Recorder. Of course. Please, all of you, sit.”
We sat, the Holder and his Commander on one side of the table, the Bennamorians opposite him. I sat at the far end of the table. This was not my fight.
Losh tried again to speak, and again the Holder waved him to silence. “Mistress Recorder, please be so good as to describe what happened outside the harbour-master’s house.”
My mouth flapped open once or twice. Losh glared at me, and I sympathised. It was insulting to be passed over in that way, as if my word was truer than his. But I caught my breath and told what I remembered, in as neutral a manner as I could.
When I had finished the Holder nodded. “So the order of events is thus: you were pelted with dirt, then the bodyguards drew their swords, then… then the flames. Is that so?” His eyes flicked briefly to Kael, twisting his hands incessantly beside Losh.
“It is, Honourable. Except that the dirt was gravel. Small stones.”
“I stand corrected. And the cut on your cheek—?”
“Caused by one of the stones, Honourable,” the tall guard put in before I could respond.
“Understood. Mage Losh, tell me about the flames. How are they produced?”
Good question. That puzzled me, too. I’d been standing right beside Kael, and I’d have sworn he had nothing in his hand at all. The left hand held his stone device, but the right hand, which produced the flames, was empty. Or so I would have said.
“Why, Lord Holder, that is magic,” Losh said gently. Beside him, Kael stared down at the table, face as white as sea-fog.
The Holder’s face was impassive, but he was silent for a long moment. “Magic. I see. Then you can produce flames like that at will?”
“I cannot – my magic is of a different sort – but my son can. Although—” A slight frown. “I have not seen such strength before. He was – upset. It is not easy to control such power, you understand. Especially not when threatened as we were.”
“And he’s still learning,” I added. “Isn’t that so, Lord Mage Losh?” They all turned to look at me, and I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. Never draw attention to yourself, wasn’t that my maxim these days? It had served me well for twenty years.
Losh’s fingers pattered on the table, but his tone was level. “That is correct. It takes many years to learn all the nuances of magic, Fen.”
Nuances. Yes, there was nothing nuanced about those flames. I wondered whether anyone had died or suffered burns because of Kael’s lack of control, and what sort of person could produce flames like that. There were legends about such people, but it was not something I’d ever expected to see.
“Very well,” the Holder said, turning away from me. “You will appreciate, Mage Losh, that I cannot allow unrestrained magic in my Holding. Nor can I permit your bodyguards to walk about with swords or knives.”
“A mage must have guards,” Losh said with dignity.
“I can supply Watchers—”
“No, that will not do. A mage must be accompanied by a specially trained mage guard when on official business. That is the law.”
“Bennamore law.” The Holder’s voice was disdainful. “When the Holders agreed to allow your kind to come here, Mage Losh, it was on the understanding that your magic, whatever it is, would be beneficial to us. Your Drashon’s heir assured us we would be better off. I do not think that flaming the hair off our heads is beneficial, do you? Nor do your specially trained guards present a reassuring picture, drawing on unarmed Holding folk like that.”
“We were under attack!” Losh said, outraged.
“That is hardly the point. I am sure the harbour folk meant no real harm, and the Watchers may be summoned to protect you if you are fearful, or the Defenders, if need be. If every passing foreigner drew steel on sailors and fish gutters, we would have anarchy.”
“Passing foreigners!” Losh was spluttering with rage. “May I remind you that we are guests in your town!”
“I do not forget it. That is why I will impose no penalty on you. I will assume you are ignorant of our laws.”
“We act under Bennamore law, which applies since we annexed your towns last year.”
There was an icy silence. I wished I could crawl under the table and hide. Goddess preserve me from men of power trying to score points over each other.
The Holder’s voice was clipped. “Under the treaty between the Port Holdings and Bennamore, all our guests from outside the coastal belt are required to abide by our laws and pay our taxes. Your Drashon is more than happy to let us continue as we always have, so long as we pay him a share of our tax revenue. In return, he sends mages to us, who will heal our sick and ensure safe passage for our ships, supposedly. We agreed to that, although with misgivings, and we were right to be concerned. There has been trouble at Dristomar Holding, too.”
He paused, but Losh had nothing to say, his mouth set in a thin line.
“There will be no magic in the streets,” the Holder said crisply.
“Agreed,” Losh said, with a quick nod.
“Your guards may accompany you, armed with batons, but no steel, no bows, no sharp weapons. Understood?”
“Ah.” Losh straightened his shoulders. “Then, regrettably, we must return to Bennamore and inform the Most Powerful that you have made it impossible for us to apply our skills here according to our protocol. I do not think he will be very pleased, Lord Holder.”
Losh was almost purring. He knew perfectly well that no one wanted to antagonise Bennamore again in case they sent their army back. No, the Drashon would not be pleased if his mages were evicted.
I wasn’t very pleased myself. Just when I’d found myself a truly comfortable nest, I was to be turfed out again. Back to Mistress Jast, watery soup and stale brinies. Surely there was a way?
“May I ask—?” I began.
“Mistress Recorder?” the Holder said.
“I believe that only Defenders may carry arms in the streets, is that so?” When he nodded, I went on, “The guards are moderately competent. Would it be possible for them to register as Defenders?”
I could see the tall guard glowering at me – I daresay he didn’t like to be described as ‘moderately competent’. But both the Holder and Losh looked hopeful.
“Is it possible, Commander?” the Holder asked.
“Certainly, Honourable, if they meet the required standard and if they are Holding-born.”
“Ah. That might be a problem,” the Holder said.
One of the Captains coughed. “Captain?” the Commander said.
“Permission to speak, Sir.” The Holder waved his assent. “It is enough to be married to someone Holding-born, Sir. Two of my men—”
“Of course!” the Holder said. “So that is easy enough. An annual wife – that would do it. Or husband, of course.”
“I already have a Holding husband,” Lenya said.
“Even better. So that is settled. You may both apply to register as Defenders, and as for you…” He looked at the tall guard. “I daresay you will have no trouble finding a wife, a great fellow like you.” The Holder and his men all laughed. “But no drawing your swords in public, either of you, unless it truly is a matter of life and death. I will assign a troop of Watchers to accompany you when you go about your business, Mage Losh. Or Defenders, if you prefer. That should be enough to reassure you.”
He rose from his chair in one smooth motion. “May the Goddess watch over you, and all in this house.”
“And grant you power, wisdom and heirs, Very Honourable Holder,” I responded.
He beamed at me, then left, his men following in an orderly line.
Kael exhaled noisily. I swe
ar he’d hardly breathed the whole time the Holder was there. Losh summoned his dresser and Lenya’s horse-master, and the seven of us sat round the table with the wine decanters. One of the servants came in with bowls of nuts and sweetmeats, and I blessed the house controller’s thoughtfulness. I needed food.
Losh explained things to the dresser and the horse-master, which took some time. The dresser, in particular, asked many questions which Losh answered patiently when he could, or else deferred to my local knowledge.
The tall guard paced up and down the room, his face wiped of all amusement. It was the first time I’d seen him disconcerted, but it wasn’t clear whether it was the thought of registering as a Defender or marriage that made him pensive. I wondered whether perhaps he had a wife or lover back home, or whether the constant flirting hid a distaste for women.
“So, Fen, what will Mal and Lenya need to do to qualify as soldiers here?” Losh asked.
“They will be tested on their skill with sword, harpoon, bow and axe.”
“Harpoon?”
“A short spear with multiple small blades on the tip. Very popular here. A kind of fishing spear.”
Losh grunted. “What about a written test? Knowledge of history or warfare tactics, that sort of thing?”
“Nothing written for the Reserves.” That brought frowns to their faces. “The Defenders you saw today with the fancy uniforms, those are the Primaries. They live in the Hold, their job is to protect the Holder and the family. Educated men. But there are also the Reserves. Mostly they end up in one of the border patrols, or mercenary groups, or as private bodyguards, but they can be called up if we go to war.”
“Oh, so if Bennamore invades, we’ll be expected to fight against them?” the tall guard said.
“Well, that’s the point of insisting that all Defenders are Holding-born, or married to one,” I said, trying not to laugh at his outraged face. “But if it comes to another war with Bennamore, I expect you’ll all be long gone, won’t you?”
“Let us not worry about that,” Losh said, hands raised to deflect the argument. “Will they pass this test, do you think?”
“Oh, probably.” I wasn’t going to tell them they would find it easy. They were all arrogant enough as it was.
“Well, then, it is just the matter of finding Mal a wife. An annual wife, the Lord Holder said?”
“Yes, that would be best. There are bonded marriages, but you won’t want a commitment for life, I’m sure. With an annual wife, the certificate is renewed each year, as necessary. Or an annual husband, if you prefer.” I smiled innocently at him.
He almost choked. “I don’t think—! I’m not like that!” Then, with a quick glance at Losh and his dresser friend, he added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, of course.”
Losh and Corsell laughed. “Yes, yes, dear boy. So where will we find you a wife? I suppose one of the servant girls would do?”
“That would be tricky,” I said. “When a girl marries, her husband becomes tied to the house, just as she is, for as long as the marriage lasts.”
“Well, what about someone from the town? A shop girl or… or a milliner, or some such?”
“Her husband is expected to live with her family.”
“She would not be able to move here?”
I shook my head. They were silent for a minute, and I saw on their faces the exact moment that each of them got it.
“Well, that’s very clear,” the guard said, his face lightening. “What we need is a woman who already lives here in this house, but isn’t actually bound to it. Can we think of anyone who fits?”
They all turned and looked expectantly at me.
I’d seen it coming, of course, but I hesitated. There were other options. Any employee outside the house staff would do – they could engage a secretary, a tutor, a dresser, a librarian… But then some silly woman would move into the house and, no doubt, moon around after the guard and make him even more unbearably arrogant. I disliked him a great deal, but I didn’t need to like him. It was a piece of paper, no more than that. He could hardly be more irritating than he was already.
When I didn’t answer at once, he got down on his knees. “Please, please, fair lady, will you be my wife?”
I rolled my eyes. “All right, all right. I suppose I’ll have to marry you, Master Guard. Now do get up.”
He bounced up like a puppy. “I knew you couldn’t resist my manly charms forever! Thank you, my sweet. You are my princess!”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself; this has nothing to do with you. I’m just doing a favour for my employers. And don’t get any ideas about sharing my bed. Make sure you keep well away from my rooms.”
“You break my heart.” He was beaming as he spoke. “But I won’t reproach you for this callous disregard for my feelings, my love. I will cherish and protect you always.”
Maybe I was wrong. It seemed he could be even more irritating. “Don’t make me regret this, Master Guard.”
“You won’t. And at least now you’ll have to drop all this formality. My name is Mal. Or Mallaron abra Marlia endor Klandorus, if you want it in full.”
“Goddess, what a mouthful!” But he had a point. If I was going to marry the man, I supposed I owed him that. “I’ll try to remember your name… Mal.”
6: A Change of Plan
Two days later, the guards returned from the Defenders’ training arena with smug grins, having met the required standard with ease. A day after that, the tall guard and I walked down to the licensing office and got married.
“Is that it?” he said as we emerged a few minutes later. “Just tell them our names, swear we’re willing – you are willing, my love, aren’t you? – hand over the fee and there we are. No jewels, no special clothes, no exchange of gifts, no feast?”
“No feast,” I said, with some regret. “Bonded marriages are more impressive, but an annual licence is a dull affair.”
“Hmph. We could have our own feast, though. It’s nearly noon, let’s have a celebration meal. What do you say?”
I could never resist the offer of food. “What did you have in mind? There’s a soup house over there that won’t be too rowdy at this time of day. Or shall we find somewhere quieter, where the merchants’ wives go to gossip?”
“Where’s the best eating house in town?”
That took me by surprise. “It would be expensive.” I cast him a speculative glance. “Several bars at least. Maybe a round.”
“You’re worth the silver, my angel.”
The prospect of a decent meal was so pleasing, I scarcely wondered how he came to have such an amount. I could get used to being married if he was prepared to spend so much money on me. As long as he expected nothing in return.
I led the way up the wide main street, which wound first one way, then the other, as it climbed the hill and left the harbour behind. We passed narrow side streets, each lined with a different craft – rugs on one, candles and lamps on another, paper and books, tailors, metal goods, flour and grains, spices, fruits, glass.
My guard husband stopped every ten paces to admire something or other on the stalls outside the shops, especially those with a woman he could play his flirtatious little games with. He seemed to think he was the Goddess’s favoured son, irresistible to all womankind, and it surprised me how many simpered and smirked right back at him. But then, perhaps they hoped he would buy something.
We came to a square just off the main street, with a stone fountain in the centre shaped like a dolphin. Here were the best food houses Carrinshar could offer.
“These are platter houses,” I told him. “All the meat and fish they have is laid out on slabs for you to choose. You put what you want on your platter and they cook it for you, however you like it.”
“Sounds good. So which of these is your favourite?”
I choked. “You jest. I’ve never eaten so far up the hill. I don’t know anyone who has. Are you sure you can afford this?”
H
e just laughed. “So you don’t know which is the best?” I shook my head. “That one looks respectable enough.” He pointed to one with a brightly painted door and tubs of herbs outside. “Will that do?”
Without waiting for an answer he strode across to it, flung open the door and marched straight in. I scuttled along behind him, not wanting to miss the expression on his face if the owner threw him out. I was wearing my best coat and he wore the flounced Bennamore costume, but the muted colours and workmanlike materials marked our lowly status. We would never be mistaken for the shipowners and wealthy merchants who lived in this district.
“My wife and I wish to eat here,” he announced. To my astonishment the owner bowed low and led us to an empty table. Perhaps she recognised the style of clothing and mistook him for one of the mages. Or perhaps his height intimidated her. He did make rather an imposing figure.
Mal ignored the large array of fish and seafood, making instead for the much smaller display of cuts of meat, game and fowl. He loaded his platter with one of every type. At my insistence, he added a couple of choice fish items. The owner, with the slightest of raised eyebrows, took the platter from us.
“And how would you prefer these to be cooked?” she asked.
Mal shrugged, and looked at me.
“The char in the Kymar style, I think,” I said. “The turbot – Shannamar style, and the seal… oh, Hell’s Bay would be lovely.”
“Crisp or soft?”
“Oh, crisp, and as spicy as you like. The rest of it—” I waved a hand over the inland meats. “However the cook sees fit.”
“And a jug of wine,” Mal added. “The best you have.”
“Trellian red?”
“Perfect,” I put in quickly, before anyone mentioned the undoubtedly astronomical price.
The owner smiled at us, and whisked the platter off to the kitchens.
“Shannamar? That’s a place, isn’t it?” Mal said, as we reseated ourselves.
Such ignorance took my breath away. “A place? It’s only the most beautiful town on the whole coast, and one of the three Greater Holdings.”
The Mages of Bennamore Page 5
